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tyler

I was poised on the boards, ready for the line change I knew was coming. I gripped my stick tightly in one hand, more in frustration than fear of dropping it. The game wasn't going in our favor. I was having an off day. All of us were. Every time it looked like we were getting ready to fire up and get on track, the other team would do something that discouraged us. It felt terrible, knowing you weren't 100% and it was hurting your team.

The defense were all over the forwards. None of us had gotten a solid chance to sneak through and slam off a shot at the net. I wanted to score, and badly. Right now I didn't care about points. If we scored, we'd be tied with the Maple Leafs. The satisfaction would be enough to sate my hunger for scoring.

Before I launched myself onto the ice, I sprayed water on my face. I hoped the liquid would wake me up, but it did nothing. Instead, I had a wet helmet. I could tell our captain, Jonathan Toews, was aware how annoyed I was. He gave me a fleeting look of encouragement as we changed places. It didn't do anything to bolster my spirits. The second my skates hit ice, I took off. My left winger, Alex DeBrincat, gained possession of the puck. I pumped my legs, trying to split the defencemen in a way that opened a clear pass or shot for Brinksy. He did the latter, slapshotting the puck as hard as possible at the Leaf's goalie. When a pad knocked the black plastic back down to the ice, I cursed. I was already propelling myself forward. I accelerated now, desperate to take the puck away from the large blue-clad defenseman.

Down the ice I went, following the puck. I ignored the Leafs defensemen closing in on my left as I headed for the crease. My eyes never left the little black object, watching as the goalie passed it behind the net to another defensemen. I was close enough to press an attack. I went in for the kill.

I approached the puck with my stick outstretched desperately. I kept it low, not wanting to gather a hooking penalty. Come on, just a little reach and I'd have it. I was so close. The blade of my stick snagged the puck away from my opponent. I immediately started to pull it towards my body. Before I could fully steal the puck away and assess my options, a force equivalent to that of a freight train slammed into me. The check came from nowhere, completely catching my off guard. Everything slowed around me. The air left my body in a giant rush, causing an immediate reaction to start heaving for air. I couldn't catch my breath. Seconds passed slowly before the force continued to drive. I gasped as I was slammed sideways. Painfully, my neck snapped to the left, head rocketing into the glass. The motion made my shoulder connect painfully with the glass, jerking my arm up, and the stick with it. I expected the glass above the boards to break my fall. It didn't. My stick hit the glass at just the right angle, cracking the sheet from top to bottom. I think it would have held if the defensemen didn't continue to drive me sideways with his shoulder. I was plowed over the board, falling into the first few rows of seats. Glass shattered around me in large chunks, raining down like hail on my back. My head connected painfully with the back of an empty chair. I heard the initial crack of skin against hard plastic, then all noises ceased in my right ear where it had hit. I'm sure I blacked out for a few seconds.

When my senses regained a slight hold, I groggily tried to sit up. My head was ringing loudly. I couldn't hear anything besides the insistent buzzing. Disorientated, I turned my head. I was trying to find a teammate, a trainer, someone who could help me. Instead, I found someone completely unexpected. All the oxygen in my lungs immediately exited once more in shock. In my slightly concussed state, my eyes had room for only one person.

The most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. She was on her feet, looking down at me with a concern I'd rarely gathered from anyone. Both perfect hands were clapped over her mouth in shock. Her shining blonde locks framed her perfect face like a halo. Her eyes were as blue as the jersey she was wearing. Her skin was a beautiful sandy shade, golden and lustrous. She looked like a model. Perfect, perfect, perfect. I could almost imagine silvery angel wings behind her. Had I died and gone to heaven? I stared at her for what felt like hours. Everything moved in slow motion. It wasn't until a strong hand grabbed my jersey and pulled me back onto the ice that time resumed its normal rate.

I could hear the clamor from the stands, and my own teammates. Vaguely, I was aware of a scrum happening several feet from me. I frowned hard, trying to discern any one word or face. My brain felt too fuzzy, too jumbled. With one gloveless hand, I clawed at whoever was attempting to stand me up straight. My attempts were futile. I went right back down, retching horribly. After I'd puked, blackness wiped my vision.

&&&

"You weren't there, man! I'm telling you, I thought I died and went to heaven."

"You were concussed dude. Badly." I waved away Kirby's words.

"Nah. I know an angel when I see one. I just wish I knew how to find her."

"You actually want to find this chick, eh? You know how hard that's gonna be?"

"That's my point. How am I going to find her? She wouldn't be following me or any of the team pages."

"Why's that? She was at our game, eh?"

"She was wearing a Leafs sweater." Kirby and I wrinkled our noses at the same time.

"Damn. Leave her be then. You don't want to be associated with a Leafs fan." I laughed at his response. I wasn't giving up that easily.

Kirby returned to suiting up for practice, lacing up his skates. I was annoyed I had to stay off the ice for the time being. Doctor's orders. The big brute of a Leaf that was Jake Muzzin was behind all of it. I'd be out there on the ice right now if he hadn't dealt such a dirty blindside check. I don't think he meant to send me through the glass, but my stick had other ideas. I'd watched the clip over and over again, both trying to gauge the hit and to catch a glimpse of my mysterious guardian angel. Instead, most angles focused on the brawl that had ensued almost immediately after I'd been hit. From the tapes, I found out it was Jon that pulled me from the stands. Both a linesman and Jon had tried to keep me stable, but their attempts had been futile. I had no memory of the way I'd fallen onto the ice like a sack of bricks after I'd spewed my guts, or the way I'd been hauled off the ice. Obviously, at one point I'd regained enough consciousness to shuffle and stumble into the locker room. After that, I only remembered the day after, when I'd woken up in the hospital. That was three weeks ago. My memory had been so fuzzy for the weeks of my injury that I didn't remember the beautiful woman. Last night, I finally caught the memory from my mind like a drifting feather. I'd been filling my best friend, Kirby, in on what I'd seen.

I let my teammates file out of the locker room ahead of me, envying them from a distance. Jon stopped, clapping me on the shoulder.

"Hey, kid. I know you're bummed, but you only have a week or two left." I nodded, accepting his encouragement. It was his job, wasn't it? Being captain meant you encouraged others. I hoped that I, too, would one day wear the captains 'C' on my jersey. It was the dream. I wanted to hold that leadership role that Jon did.

I hated sitting on the bench and watching my team run the drills I already knew by heart. I should be out there, getting my blood pumping and sweat flowing. I hated concussions. This wasn't my first, but it was by far the worst one I'd ever had. I hated the way it took over my head and made me feel inferior. I think that's why I was so focused on finding my guardian angel. It was a welcoming distraction from the pain of knowing I couldn't play for a few weeks.

Hopefully, I scanned the crowd that had gathered to watch the team practice. As if she'd be there. Why would she be? If she was a Leafs fan, she probably lived in or around Toronto. What were the chances she'd be in Chicago? Little to none.

I had one more plan that I wanted to try before I gave up my search. I couldn't attempt it until my head was feeling better, since it involved my phone screen and a lot of scrolling. Right now, fast movement from the bright blue light of electronic screens made my head spin and my eyes hurt. So my plan was pushed back, for now. I was starting to grow desperate. Something made me want to find this girl so much. She was everything I'd ever dreamed of. An angel in the stands of a hockey game.

The rest of the practice was swift. I watched from my spot on the bench, occasionally shouting suggestions to my teammates when they weren't in drills. After the final huddle around Coach, the men I knew so well started to file off the ice. Like before, I waited for them to pass before joining the line. I was greeted with several nods and mumbled words, which I returned with a grim smile.

The team had a game the next night, a home one. They played the Flames, which I was looking forward to seeing. I'd played in the OHL for a year with a few of the younger Flames players. Playing former teammates was always enjoyable. The following week, we rematched the Leafs. It was a game I still wouldn't be able to play in. Like my captain's words had stated earlier, I only had a week and a half left before I could hit the ice again. Although I wouldn't be playing full contact right away. Our team doctor had instructed me to start off as slow as possible. He didn't want me jumping back in too early and hurting my head again in a game. Which was understandable. I had a lot of expectations riding on my shoulders. Injuring myself further wasn't going to help anyone.

I trailed after the familiar practice jerseys down into the locker room. There was an opening on the bench near Kirby's locker, which I sprawled over lazily. He shot me an annoyed look. I was taking up his equipment space. I knew full well how much room Kirby liked to take up, so I remained where I was.

"Move, you fatass." I rolled my eyes at his meager insult.

"What, two weeks off the ice and suddenly I'm fat?"

"Yes. Now move your ass, eh?" I flipped him off before heavily getting to my feet. Bad move. My head swam, making me so dizzy I had to sit right back down. I always forgot I couldn't stand too quick. I ignored Kirby's concerned look. He didn't need to know how much my head was really bothering me. None of my teammates did. I hadn't even told our team doctor, Mike, how much my head hurt and how strong my symptoms were. I just wanted to be back on the ice, as soon as possible.

I stood again, slower this time. My mood soured, I left the dressing room. In the hallway, I passed Coach, who nodded to me. I almost expected him to flag me down and drag me back into the locker room. When he didn't, I continued on my way. Guess I didn't need to stay for his pep talk.

I waited outside by Kirby's car, impatient to get home. For now, Kirby, our teammate Adam Boqvist, and I had all rented an apartment together. What else were three rookies to do in such a large city? I was unaccustomed to living with anyone else, so the transition had been difficult. Of course, I'd spent nights in hotels with teammates when I played hockey through my youth, but this was more permanent. Days in my actual home had been empty and lonely. But that was a story for another time. What would the press sites do with that sorry background? Probably snap it right up and immediately paint me as a sob story-turned-inspiration. Not something I wanted to deal with. At least, not this early in my career. As it was, it was hard enough trying to say the right thing in interviews. Kirby and I had set a 'core four' set of rules to cover in interviews, but there were always questions out of the blue that caught us off guard.

The chilled December air reddened my cheeks and ears. I hoped Kirby would come out soon. My thin jacket definitely wasn't enough to protect against the bite of Chicago wind. That was the only thing I hated about this city. The wind. There had been windy days outside of Boston, but those came and went sparingly. Nothing like the constant blistering breeze here. I couldn't escape, no matter where I went. One downfall to fulfilling my dream.

An eternity later, Kirby emerged, tailed by Drake Caggiula and Adam. I felt a spark of jealousy. Kirby was getting more play time now that I was out. What if I didn't recover and he passed me in goals? It was possible. He was a good center, almost as good as I was. He was getting closer to my line as well. I shook my head, trying to wipe away the evil thoughts. No, Kirby was my friend and my teammate. If he passed me in points because of this injury, I would be happy for him. Someone deserved to get the Calder, better be someone from the Blackhawks.

Kirby and Adam finally separated from the winger. I pushed off from where I was leaning on the silver car. Adam and Kirby approached, talking quietly. They stopped, rather abruptly, when they got within earshot of me. Once again, the jealousy began to brew within me. I cursed the Leafs defensemen for screwing my season up. I felt out of the loop already, no longer in on the jokes. I couldn't wait until I could start practicing again.

My roommates changed their conversation to a more mundane subject. I participated halfheartedly from the back seat. I wasn't listening all the way. I watched the townhomes and apartment buildings flash by as we headed to our own flat. If my head wasn't hurting, I would have plugged earbuds into my phone and blasted some music. Kirby said something that caught my attention, bringing my attention back to my friends in the front seat.

"What?" Kirby glared at me in the rear view mirror.

"I said...when are you gonna come back and practice with us, eh? You haven't said anything about it yet."

"Oh. Mike says next week I can start practicing. No games yet, though."

"Sick. We miss you out there Walty. Kirbs here is a major puck hog." Adam's accented English made me smile. Kirby scoffed, trying to defend his honor.

"Hey, I'm trying to score. Can't blame me for that, eh?"

The two continued to bicker back and forth. I rolled my eyes, letting them argue. I tuned them out again, looking out the window once more.

I hoped I would be back when the team doctor predicted. I could hardly stand being off the ice.

First, I needed to find my angel in the stands of a hockey game.

&&&

The Toronto game came quicker than any of us anticipated. It was the second home game of the week, following a Monday night victory over Calgary. I'd missed attending the game, which irked me to no end. I'd pay extra attention to this game. Take notes on the lines, watch our scoring and passing. If I could catch the mistakes or slow parts, I'd be able to bring them up to Coach and he could do something in practice. I knew he had guys doing that all the time, but it was something that made me feel useful. And hey, sometimes a players perspective was different.

For the first time since my concussion, I would be lacing up for morning practice. Falling asleep the night before felt like the night before a big tournament. I could hardly allow my eyes to close. I stared at the ceiling for hours, images of hockey dancing in my mind. Finally, sleep calmed my restless thoughts.

Getting into the car with my teammates and pulling into the lot knowing that I would be playing was a relief. My muscles twitched in anticipation of the burn that I knew was coming. Following Kirby, we started into the practice rink. I paused before entering the room that I knew so well. Finally, I was back in my spot in the locker room. I'd stopped by to check in with Mike after I suited up. He said it was all up to me now. I needed to know when I didn't feel good, and when it was time to stop. I was determined to get back on track as fast as possible. I wasn't going to let a little pain get in my way.

Standing up on skates, feeling the heavy pads on my shoulders, and the familiar stick in my hands was a relief. I'd missed the sensations more than I had realized. Instead of waiting for my team to pass before going to the rink, I joined Kirby and Jon right away. As rookies and forwards, Jon was our unofficial mentor. He was a center, like we were, and the captain. Just like Brian Campbell had instructed Adam before the season, Jon had tutored Kirby and I in developmental camp. The rookie camp was were I'd met my future teammate and fellow center. Kirby and I had become fast friends. I couldn't imagine my transition to the NHL without him. Him and Jon had made the move easy and full of anticipation.

Ah, I'd get too sentimental about them. Though I wouldn't be lying if I said this team was starting to feel like family already. I'd only ever been on one team I'd felt this close to. And that was years ago. I was sure this opportunity was going to far outrank that experience. Jon snapped me from my thoughts of the past and the present.

"Tyler, Mike told me you should start slow." His words were more a question than a statement.

"I'll stop if I need to." I was slightly annoyed. Of course Jon and Mike had talked. Kirby was silent, watching me with slightly narrowed eyes. I ignored his gaze as we approached the ice. Everyone would be watching me. This was the first test to see how much I'd really recovered. I approached the rink in anticipation. My whole body itched to take off the minute I stepped out.

I couldn't help but grin as I sucked in a breath of cold air. My eyes swept in the practice rink in a whole new light. You never know how much you miss something until it's gone for a bit. Dramatic sentiment, yes, but I was being serious. I'd lived and breathed ice hockey since I could skate on my own. I'd never taken a break longer than five days. From the age of seven, I practiced at a rink right after school until nine or ten at night. At first, it was because my mom just dumped me off for lessons. The older I grew, the more I gravitated towards the rink to escape my home life. Then it was so I wasn't lonely in my own home when my mom wasn't home. Which was every day. Maybe my situation had made me who I am now. Would I be a different person if coaches hadn't raised me? If I hadn't practiced for hours every day because I had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do? I had a feeling I would have turned out incredibly similar to my mother.

Adam skated by me, rapping me on the shins with the edge of his stick. I smiled again, pushing my legs forward. The feeling of my skates sliding effortlessly over the frozen ground was exhilarating. I joined warmups, loosening my muscles and preparing for physical exertion.

We circled around Jon, stretching our legs, torsos, and arms. I was wedged between Patrick Kane and Dylan Strome. I struck up a light conversion with the forwards as I pushed my legs against the ice.

At first, I had no problems. Conditioning was effortless, like it always had been. Sprints and strength training wasn't difficult since I'd been working in the gym as much as my head allowed. In drills, my brain was perfectly coordinated with my limbs, allowing me to pass and shoot like never before. It wasn't until there was half an hour left in practice that I felt my symptoms pulling my concentration away.

I'd participated in most of the physical drills, but usually hanging back and passing long shots instead of throwing myself directly into the fray. Now, I saw an opportunity. Coach was watching from the sides, carefully reading each position. I'd asked him if I could be put in with my line, over Kirby. He obliged, since the center was hanging back more than getting involved in this exercise. I took my spot, sending a puck wide to Duncs to kickstart the drill. It was a defense focused skill set, but I could tell Adam was lagging. So I did what I'd done countless times before, all without thinking.

I went after the opposite attackers, coming up on Patrick's left side. I pushed against him in a fight for the puck, pinning him between the boards. At first, my check didn't bother me. Then, when Kaner fought back, the pushing and quick movement immediately sent my head screaming. I lost concentration for a split second, pushing heavily on the winger and dipping. My skate caught, almost tangling with Pat's legs in a deadly mix up. My knee hit the ice hard, my head dropping at the pain of the impact. It hurt more in my brain than my knee. I knew my slip was obvious to anyone watching. As if to emphasize my silent cursing, a loud voice rang across the ring. I froze, still crouched on the ice.

"Easy, Tyler!" Jon's voice was deep, a sharp edge to it. I didn't look up as he skated up. A heavy hand dropped to my shoulder. "You're done for today." My lip quivered in frustration.

"I'm fine." My words were cold. I shoved Jon's arm off. I could tell he was put off by my harsh reaction. I tried to stand, regretting the action immediately. I cursed as I had to grab out at my captain in order to keep my balance. I felt shaky all of the sudden. Jon caught me, his hands clutching at my sweater tightly. He pulled me closer, dropping his voice threateningly.

"I said. You're. Done." I didn't reply, just pushed him off me. I knew my physical retaliation was uncalled for, but it felt good to shove him away. Steaming, I skated shakily for the locker room. I could feel the eyes of my team on my back, judging my condition. As I stepped off the ice, Mike stepped to my side.

"Alright there, Tyler? How's your head." I debated lying to the team physician for a moment. I thought better of it. He had the power to hold me back from further play, which I knew he would take advantage of if he thought I was keeping things from him.

"It's not bad. I just got a little dizzy. I think I'll be fine by next week for physical stuff." Mike nodded.

"Come see me before your practice tomorrow, ok? We'll talk about tentative clearing dates." I nodded. We parted ways, heading in our respective directions. I couldn't celebrate his words properly when I was ticked off. Knowing that didn't help my mood.

By the time the rest of the team joined me, I had cooled off considerably. I retained my stone expression, but felt apologetic for the retaliation against Jon. It wasn't a good look when teammates didn't listen to and respect the captain. I cursed my pride. I knew I needed to apologize to him, but my ego resented the idea. I'd catch him later, I told myself. Right now, the team had open ice to go skate around with family members. I could join, but there was no one here to go skating with. I had no relatives nearby, and I didn't have a girlfriend. I knew I wasn't the only one, so I didn't feel terrible changing back to my street clothes. Kirby was in the same boat. His parents lived miles and miles away. He didn't have a girlfriend. Adam, too. So we abandoned the rink, heading for brunch before game time. Maybe by the next family skate, I'd have a sweet little blonde angel on my arm. That'd be the dream.

I was grateful my friends were smart enough to keep from mentioning my snap at Jon earlier. Instead, we kept our conversations lighthearted. The sports bar we frequented was fairly empty at this point in the day. I knew by the time six rolled around, the small restaurant would be crammed with Blackhawks fans. And us three would in the arena. Kirby and Adam on the ice, in the thick of the action. And I, watching from a press box up high. It was one of the first games I'd be attending since I got hurt. The other games I'd avoided, knowing the noise and calamity of the United Center would hurt too much. I was planning on going to the Calgary game a few days ago, but I had a strength training appointment. Now I finally got to support my brothers from up high.

We exited the restaurant at around two, leaving the bill on our team tab. I could tell Adam and Kirby were getting excited. Kirby showed his excitement by talking rapidly and loudly. Adam was the opposite, more like me. He was quiet and brooding, planning his future moves out. Usually, we'd be talking about the team we were about to play and how we shaped up against them. Now, I suppose they kept conversation clear of anything hockey for my sake. Flattering, but unnecessary.

Kirby drove like a grandma through the thick traffic. It felt like eternity crammed in the small silver car before we reached the United Center. It had taken us an hour to traverse twenty minutes of city streets. Leave it to Kirby to achieve that time difference.

I followed them in, hoping Jon was here. He should be, since there was film for an hour before everyone suited up. Coach had informed me I was still expected at film, so I'd been at every session since my concussion. I needed to keep up with what was happening on other teams. Soon it'd be my turn to step back up, and I needed to be ready.

The voices of our teammates sounded from the film room. We weren't late, at least not yet. I had just enough time to apologize to Jon.

The captain stood at the back of the room, watching the occupants carefully. He turned as Kirby and Adam entered. I spoke, low and quiet, before he had a chance to.

"Tazer, I want to apologize for earlier. It's just frustrating, that's all." The conversations ceased slowly, attention turning to us. I knew we were being searched for tension and possible rebellion.

"It's alright, kid. We all have those days." Jon's smile made me internally relax. His hand clapped my shoulder, squeezing it sharply. I understood the message in his strong pinch. Don't do it again.

I assumed my seat that was the best vantage point for the screen. Each of us liked to view the tape from different angles. Me, from the right, Kaner from the left, and Jon from straight on.

It was how we worked on the ice. I'd prefer the center like Jon, but I didn't deserve that yet. Center view was captain and goalie territory. I wasn't captain. Not yet.